


You could have opened that pouty mouth of yours and just fucking told me!

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: Soulmate AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And a prick, Dreaming, Jon Snow Knows Something, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pyke is a dreary place, Soulmate AU, Still more or less unrequited love, Theon is clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:37:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: He’s heard some men say, when you’re dying or close to, your whole life flickers past in your mind. This must be something similar, only Theon’s not dying and it’s not exactly his life he’s seeing. Only glimpses of Snow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You should have known](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067714) by [theonsfavouritetoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy). 



> Soooo, here we are! Soulmate AU Part 2 - at least a start! I have to confess I was VERY anxious about this one bc the first one was so well received - I sincerely hope I don't disappoint with this sequel.

He’s heard some men say, when you’re dying or close to, your whole life flickers past in your mind. This must be something similar, only Theon’s not dying and it’s not exactly his life he’s seeing. Only glimpses of Snow.

Snow on the day Theon arrived at Winterfell, a small, sour-faced boy with a mass of black curls and grey eyes, shooting him an awkward glance.

Snow following him and Robb like a grumpy shadow, always around but never actually _with_ them.

Snow growing up, his voice getting squeaky, his behaviour more peculiar than ever. How he’d always go to the pools alone, turning his back on Theon and Robb whenever he caught them naked. Even before they were more...

Snow’s face when he stumbled upon them after Theon had finally been able to convince Robb of his feelings, Snow’s hasty retreat. Theon had thought he was disgusted.

Snow’s eyes following them through the hall on Robb’s sixteenth name day feast, the disapproving, snappy tone of his voice when he declined Robb’s invitation to come along with them.

Snow standing in his chamber, face pinched up in what Theon had thought to be contempt, listening to him drunkenly blabbering about Robb.

The twitch of Snow’s hand before he’d promised Theon to talk to Robb, his eyes solemn, his voice blank.

Snow sitting opposite Theon, pretending to drink from his tankard, pretending to listen to Theon’s sob story. Robb, Robb, Robb.

It feels strange, these glimpses, they make his skin prickle and his blood rush, until the last one, more like an image frozen in time.

Snow’s hand in his, a moment ago, maybe an hour, maybe a week. Snow’s husky voice, telling him goodbye, calling him Theon.

It can’t be true. It just fucking _can’t_! He’s a lord, a future lord - no, a fucking _prince_! He’s to rule the Iron Islands after his father, to sit on the Seastone Chair, to wear the Thriftwood Crown and… Theon shakes his head. It’s impossible. How can his soulmate be a fucking northern bastard???

It must be some kind of mistake, maybe Theon’s been mistaken himself, maybe he’s just tired and has imagined the heat, the tingling, the longing to hold on, to keep the bastard’s warm hand in his for just a moment longer, or for forever...

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“STARK!!!”

It takes Robb a surprisingly long time to show up, which is only good. Theon has to very sternly remind himself that, as long as Ned Stark is away, it’s Robb he has to answer to, who basically owns his sorry ass after fucking _dumping_ his sorry ass, never even telling Theon the real reason why the fuck they shouldn’t - oh. _Oh._

There he is, finally, leading a saddled horse out of the stables. He looks determined, and a little wistful. Theon is seething, clenching and unclenching his hands, biting his cheek to prevent himself from just screaming at his bloody lord.

“How long. How long have you known.”

The words are hissed through gritted teeth, revealing Theon’s anger rather plainly. Robb doesn’t even flinch, he just shakes his head.

“My sixteenth name day.”

After which he’d told Theon they couldn’t be together anymore. To… to what? Protect his precious bastard brother? Coddle the little shit despite him never showing even the tiniest hint of interest in Theon? It makes no sense, nothing of it.

Jon Snow - his soulmate? He’s not even a real Stark, he’s not Robb, he can’t expect Theon to consider him as a partner, he’s not… he’s not here anymore. He’s gone. Theon exhales carefully. Snow knew he didn’t stand a chance and offered them both an easy way out. Theon should be thankful, he shouldn’t be… angry.

He’s so fucking angry he thinks he’ll explode.

“If you don’t go after him you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Robb’s voice is stern, but there’s a softness underneath. For a moment they just stare at each other, all the feelings Theon had so unsuccessfully repressed drifting to the surface again.

How he’d loved him… But he can’t deny that the pull, the longing, they’re gone. Or, maybe not gone. Just coming from a different direction. Without wanting to, Theon turns his head, toward the gates of Winterfell.

“Just go already, you idiot.”

He’s right. Fuck, Robb is fucking right. He can’t just let Snow clip-clop out of his life without knowing. Why the fuck he hasn’t told him. Why he hasn’t given Theon a chance to set things right. Why he hasn’t opened his damn bastard mouth-

Another memory floats through his mind. His own ten-year-old voice. _A bastard._ Well, that hadn’t sounded very nice, probably. But just because of this - Theon shakes his head, trying to get rid of the guilt seeping in. He’s called him that a thousand times.

But Snow _is_ a bastard. And Theon could never lower himself like that. Still… he owes Snow a talk, a proper talk. And maybe an apology. If Snow had only told him… it wouldn’t have changed anything, but it’d have been better to tell him from the start that it isn’t going to happen. Which Snow knows. Which is why he’s fucking gone and Theon can’t stop thinking about the feeling of his skin-

With a hitched curse he plucks the reigns out of Robb’s hand and climbs onto the horse. He doesn’t look back, just hurries the animal out of the gate. He _has_ to catch Snow, if only to apologize and wish him well in the years to come. And see if the feelings are still as strong when he knows what’s coming.

This strange longing to just keep touching him, to touch _more_ of him… He’s never thought of Snow like that and now that he’s forced to, Theon’s not sure _what_ to think. Snow is not Robb. Snow is a bastard, a sullen little boy, he’s - right there. Tying his horse to a tree, at the side of the road. He hasn’t come far. Theon’s gut clenches - but his chest fills with a strange feeling of relief.

“SNOW!” he shouts before he’s even there, unable to keep that relief out of his voice.

Snow looks up slowly, his whole body stiffens at seeing Theon. He doesn’t look exactly happy, his gaze disbelieving, his mouth pulled down. Now he crosses his arms before his chest. It reminds Theon of being angry with Snow, rightfully so. He lets the anger build while he slows the horse to a stop, climbs down and starts marching up to Snow. Rightfully angry.

He stops short when he reaches him, and it’s a good feeling, towering over him and glaring down into his stupid face… lighting up with a glimmer of hope Snow is unable to hide. It’s like a beacon of light in this moment, and all the anger, all the bastards and princes and cannots evaporate as Theon sees, really sees Snow’s face for what must be the first time.

Dark eyes, wide and startled, fringed with thick, black lashes stare back at him and Theon looks away quickly. Too much. His gaze follows the line of Snow’s nose, down to his mouth, his full, pink mouth, pulled down like every other time Theon has ever seen it. His face is pale against the dark stubble on his chin, his throat moves as he swallows.

Slowly, carefully, Theon lifts his hand to draw one fingertip across Snow’s cheek. It’s like being struck by lightning, some strange tingle running from Snow’s skin onto Theon’s, burning him until he’s sure that, once he stops touching Snow, his hand will be charred to the bone.

Nothing has ever felt this right. For a fleeting moment Theon’s mind wanders back, to how delicious it was to finally touch Robb, taste him, feel him in so many ways… The most pleasurable feeling holds nothing to this now, this tiny contact that makes him want to whisper the most nonsensical things. But only one word fills his mind.

Theon licks his lips, his throat feels dry and aches. He cannot recall ever saying it aloud, the word that’s lingering in his mouth now. He opens it, has to try a few times before he can make a sound. Only that one word. That one word that all of a sudden makes more sense than any one of the many, many words he’s said before.

“Jon.”

A gasp is the only response he gets, and now Theon finally dares to look up again, into Jon’s eyes, determined to take whatever is looking back at him. Hate. Contempt. Disgust. He dreads it, now that he’s here, now that the pull towards Jon isn’t diluted by Theon’s own prejudices, now that he finally _sees_. He doesn’t want Jon to hate him, even if he has to tell him in absolute certain terms...

Their eyes meet and the earth seems to shift. Everything Theon thought he knew is gone, replaced by one look. A look of wonder, longing and… love. Jon loves him. After all that’s happened, and didn’t happen… _Jon loves him._

He’s never even wanted it, all the complicated shit that comes with having a bloody soulmate. He’d made his peace with it when he’d thought, hoped, _believed_ it was Robb - perfect, so fucking perfect - but only now he understands. There’s that one person who loves you, unconditionally.

He’s never done anything to deserve this, Theon’s all too aware of that. But somehow, somewhere along the way, Jon decided he’s worthy. Theon doesn’t want to dwell on the why. He smiles, feeling grateful, humble, and Jon’s lips quirk up and there’s the hint of a hesitating smile in return.

He hears a strange sound, and it takes Theon a moment to realise it’s coming from him. He throws his head back and lets the laughter fill the silence between them, the joy overwhelming, his chest threatening to explode.

He looks back at Jon, laughing some more at the confusion now plain on his pretty, pretty face, he takes that face between his palms and, still smiling, covers Jon’s mouth with his own.

***

Somehow they’ve managed to sit beneath the tree, fully clothed, which Theon deems exceptional considering the circumstances. That he can’t seem to let go of Jon’s hand for a moment. That neither of them has been able to finish a single sentence before the other shuts him up again with a kiss.

Theon has taken off those idiot leather cuff Jon’s always been wearing, finally knowing why, and continues brushing his fingers over the tiny kraken. Strange, how one motion can be simultaneously enough, and not enough at all. The thought of doing _more_ … it’s scary even. He’s already feeling so much. Maybe, if he’d touch Jon in a different way, his heart would simply give out.

There’s no need to do anything _now._ Theon’s mind is made up. Now that he knows - how can he let go again? Marrying Sansa will be out of the question, that much is clear. She’ll be free to marry a man she loves, that stupid Baratheon prince maybe. Or her soulmate, once the time comes.

Even Arya won’t be an option, a thought that always has made Theon feel more than a little uncomfortable. Not that he’s scared or anything, just… Little firecracker would do well on the Iron Islands. But. Ned Stark wouldn’t do that, Lady Stark would never allow it. For Robb maybe. Surely not for the bastard.

No, it’ll have to be some random Ironborn woman. A proper rock wife to give him sons. He could make Jon captain of a ship, a fleet, and they’d go reaving the shores together - a new thought has him pause in his musings.

“Do you like ships?” he asks. “Have you ever seen one?”

Jon doesn’t answer immediately. Slowly he leans his head against Theon’s shoulder, hesitant, as if he’s still not sure he’s allowed to. Stupid boy, Theon thinks fondly. They’re alone here, nobody to see them or mock him for being with the Stark bastard. They can do anything they want. Carefully he lays his arm around Jon’s shoulder and pulls him closer, and the boy sighs a little and relaxes into Theon’s embrace.

It makes Theon want to stay like this forever. The trust Jon is showing… unearned, he’s aware of that, but so welcome. He’ll try his best not to break it.

“I’ve seen ships that one time, at White Harbour. They’re… big.”

Jon sounds unsure now, maybe even a little afraid. Theon smiles and places a kiss on top of his head.

“You’ll get used to it. You’ll see, you’re going to love the sea. We’ll sail together and I’ll show you everything there is. Maybe you’ll even get a tan,” Theon says teasingly, feeling Jon’s disbelieving gaze more than seeing it.

“You’ll look so good, your sword raised, the wind whipping your hair around your face… I swear if that guy ever takes his shears near your hair again, I’m going to rip his head off.”

Jon sits up, a lopsided smile on his beautiful face. “Poor Tommy. It wasn’t his idea, you know?” The smile vanishes, and for a ridiculous moment Theon feels cold, as if the sun has vanished behind the clouds. Or rather, the moon. “Raised sword… Theon, do Ironborn still do that? Like…” Jon swallows. So fucking sweet. “All that reaving and stealing and plundering. Taking people.”

“Why, yes,” Theon says, sitting up a bit straighter. “Of course. It’s our way of life.” He tries to pull Jon back into his arms, surprised when he resists. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to keep up? Don’t worry, love, you’ll learn everything fast enough.”

“Love.” Jon has paled considerably, his brow furrowed, shadowing his lovely eyes. “Theon…” Like a shock running through him, the sound of his name from Jon’s lips. How could he not have noticed? “Theon, what you’re saying… that’s not me. I cannot do that.”

Theon frowns in confusion. Jon is slowly backing away from his arms now. What does he mean, he cannot do what? But then he shrugs. If Jon doesn’t want to go reaving, they’ll do something else.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ll find you a nice chamber at Pyke, and I’ll come visit you whenever I can - Jon, what is wrong?”

Jon has gotten to his feet, shaking his head. “You don’t know me. You have no idea who I am. I’m…” His whole body is shaken by a violent shiver and he wraps his arms around himself. It looks as if he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. “You’re just… Theon, you never wanted anything to do with me. Now you’re suddenly talking of having me reaping innocent villagers and hiding in some damp castle chamber, condemned to wait for you all day while you’re out there…”

Theon has gotten up too now, anguished by Jon’s obvious pain, confused by his words.

“Jon, what do you want me to do? You never gave me a chance to get to know you, how am I supposed to?” He reaches out. “Come now, love, let’s go home and the rest we’ll see. It’s still many years before I’ll be Lord of the Iron Islands and-”

“Home??” It’s nearly a scream, pained and startling. “Theon, there is no _home_ for me! Not at Winterfell, not at Pyke.” Jon is shivering hard now, blinking his tears away. “A long time ago I thought…” The last part is whispered. “I thought my soulmate would be my home.” Now he looks up, his eyes dark and tormented. “But my _soulmate_ didn’t recognize me, he belittled me, ignored me, chose my brother over me.” His breathing is ragged, his hands clenched into fists. “And when you came after me I thought… I hoped…”

Theon is quiet throughout Jon’s outburst, not understanding in the slightest what is happening. Jon groans, nearly doubled over in anguish.

“You don’t know me, you don’t _want_ to know me! I’m to fit seamlessly into your life schedule like… what about what _I_ want? What about what _I_ need?”

Now Theon starts to feel angry as well. Jon is portraying him as a fucking villain, twirling his moustache while trying to steal the blushing virgin away to his evil lands.

“Jon, you never opened your mouth!! Do you take me for a fucking mind reader? I was a kid for fuck’s sake! I was taken hostage by a man who killed my brothers, a man my father _gave_ me to, like I’m some kind of dog he didn’t want anymore! And then you expect me to just come here, take one look at you and go, uuh love of my life, be still my beating heart? Fuck, Jon…”

“That’s what it was like for me.” Jon’s voice is lower now, still strained. “I saw you and knew it’s you. I wanted to be with you, but you…” He swallows again and again, seems about to choke. “You didn’t _see_ me, Theon! You only saw Robb.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t really blame me for that. He’s the lordling of the place I was going to live at, course I’ll concentrate on him and not on some sulky little boy who turns out to be nothing but a… a…”

Jon’s eyes widen at Theon’s apparent struggle to swallow the last word, and suddenly Theon feels tired. Whatever the circumstances, Jon _is_ a bastard. And Robb… Theon talks on before thinking.

“And then, you’ve seen your brother, right? Fuck, Snow he’s just the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen and I had that fucking direwolf on me and I…”

Jon has taken another step back, his face paler than ever, tears now freely flowing down his cheeks.

Great. Fucking great.

“Jon, I…” Theon takes a step towards him, desperate to bridge the suddenly unbearable gap between them. “Yes, I loved him. But that doesn’t mean-”

Jon has raised a hand and Theon falls silent.

“If I would’ve told you. What’d you have said? What would you have done? Would you have been able to love _me?_ A bastard? A boy you never knew and never made an effort to even be civil to?”

Theon doesn’t answer. What good would it do them? What’s past is past and now that he knows…

A strange calm seems to seep into Jon’s bent figure, he straightens. “You don’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t have.” He smiles, so beautiful despite his tear-streaked face it nearly kills him. “I love you, Theon. I always will. But we’re not… you’ll never give me what I need.”

Theon watches, stunned, as Jon unties his horse and climbs onto its back.

“Farewell, Theon. If you ever…” Jon hesitates, shakes his head. “No. You’ll never need me.”

He watches Jon ride away, out of his life, and something inside him breaks into a thousand pieces. He can feel his face contorting, a scream rising in his chest.

“PISS OFF THEN, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!! YOU GOT ONE THING RIGHT, I DON’T NEED YOU AND I NEVER WILL!!!”

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of canon happening but tbh I didn't want to write it all down *snore*  
> It's fanfic, we all know what's on :)

It’s strange, that a simple bodily function like breathing can take such an effort. Before it had been subconsciously, unthinkingly performed. Now every day is a struggle, inhaling, exhaling, always with the horrible certainty that something, everything, is utterly, utterly wrong.

Not that he’s not functioning. Fuck if he lets the bastard fuck him over so much. So, day after day, Theon does what he does. Smirking and flirting and firing one arrow after the other at a target that, in his mind, resembles his own face.

He’s even gone as far as to try cosying up to Robb again, refusing to speak of what has happened with Jon, just wanting to fuck that whole business out of his brain. Robb’s reaction had been… well, not good. Their relationship is strained now, to say the least.

Truth be told, Theon doesn’t even think it would’ve helped. Fucking Robb. Fucking Ros certainly isn’t, no matter how hard he’s taking her, no matter how pompous he’s acting towards her, and anyone else. At least they seem to buy it.

Flippant Theon. Careless Theon. Warmongering Theon, after the Lannisters have shown their true colours. Theon _longs_ to go to war. Anything to escape Winterfell, and the dreams. The dreams… Theon isn’t sure if they’re what keeps him sane - or rather what drives him toward the edge of madness.

It’s rarely ever the same dream, a different scenario night after night. And he hasn’t forgotten a single one of them. They’re nice dreams, warm and happy and peaceful. Most of them. That’s what makes it worse. Not that he’s dreaming. That he wakes up.

There’s the dreams of the future, a future that’s slipped through his fingers before he could hold on to it. Him and Jon, on board of a large ship, black sails with a golden kraken, the sea spray on their smiling faces. Jon tugged under his arm as Theon points to Pyke appearing in the distance. Jon in the sea, in one of the little bays at Cape Kraken, salt on his skin, a sparkle in his eyes. Those dreams hurt a lot, when they end.

Then there’s those dreams of the past, how it could have been if he’d known. If Jon had told him. Dreams of archery practice, of Theon’s arm along Jon’s, of Jon’s hair tickling his lips as he whispers instructions into his ear. Of feasts, sitting side by side, defying Lady Catelyn’s orders, together. Baths in the hot springs, just sitting together, skin on skin in the warmth.

The most painful dreams of all. Jon in his arms, his full lips parted, sighing his name, eyes hazy with want, his curls plastered against his sweat-slicked skin, his body arched in pleasure as Theon claims him over and over again… Waking up from one of these dreams is torture.

And then there’s that ridiculous thing he’s doing, when he’s sure no one notices his absence. Every day, whenever he gets the chance, he sneaks into the little room that had been Jon’s. He’s not taken much with him, of the few things he possessed.

There’s still some items of clothing left in a chest at the foot of the bed, a good shirt Jon has maybe worn only a couple of times, or never. He wouldn’t need it at the Wall. A pair of breeches that look too small to fit Jon now, maybe a year or two old. Theon wonders why he kept them.

Apart from that, nothing except a stack of books from the castle’s library. When he first flipped through them, every single title felt like a slap in Theon’s face.

_A Tale of Fearsome Men - Ironborn Pirates_

_A History of Pyke_

_House Greyjoy and its Vassals_

He’s read them all and, seeing it in black and white, Theon has to confess it doesn’t paint a pretty picture of his kin. He tries to remember his childhood there, anything that shows a tiny spark of something else. He can’t find one. It’s as if the years before Winterfell have been erased from his memory.

He brings the books back into the library, avoiding the bloody maester’s sympathetic looks. Still he lingers, reluctant to leave this place Jon has apparently spent so much time at.

“His favourite books were always the exciting ones.” The maester’s voice is calm, he’s not looking at Theon standing at the window. “Walkers and giants… and krakens.”

Theon doesn’t move, just keeps looking out of the window, at the tower where Bran is lying in his bed, listening to Old Nan’s stories - like Jon, many years ago?

“I’ve never seen a more serious child, even Ned was livelier as a boy. He’s learned his place very early.” The maester clears his throat. “Although he could get excited, when there was mutton stew for dinner, or when he was allowed to stay at the high table during a feast. I remember one day…”

Theon stays for hours, never saying a word, listening to stories about Jon’s childhood, about his little trifles and small joys, about the toys he played with as a child. Theon listens. Mayhaps for the first time in his fucking, preposterous life.

The next time the maester talks about other things. Jon’s righteousness. His humbleness, his wish to help others, his love for his siblings, his respect towards people, highborn or not. Theon closes his eyes, anguished as he realises… Jon is good. Utterly, overwhelmingly good.

“He was a very sullen boy. Surly and morose and quickly taking offense.”

Theon turns around at this, confused. The maester smiles.

“Don’t put him on a pedestal, Theon. He’s far from perfect. But he is-”

“Better than me,” Theon mumbles, his face heating up in shame.

“Just think,” the maester says with a smile, “how good you’d be together.”

Suddenly filled with burning rage, Theon smashes his fist onto the maester’s desk. “Why do you torment me like that, old man? He’s gone!” With a groan he turns towards the door, is stopped by the maester’s sad voice.

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Theon.”

For a moment Theon crumbles, his gut twisting in pain. His voice rings shrill in his ears as he answers.

“But a third?”

***

Robb calls the banners. They are going to war. With Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik gone, the burden is heavy on Robb’s shoulders. And despite everything, Theon tries to help him carry it. After all, Robb is his lord. His friend. His brother, now that all other feelings are extinguished for good.

When lord after lord floods the castle with their men, Theon moves into Jon’s little room permanently, leaving his more lavish chambers to Maege Mormont. Robb doesn’t say anything to that, which Theon is grateful for. He’s sleeping in Jon’s bed now, under Jon’s furs, clutching Jon’s pillow to his chest. Imagining he can still smell him on the fabric.

More lords arrive, and a raven. Robb has sent word to Jon at Castle Black, this is his answer. They’re sitting together when Robb receives the scroll, and he reads it at once. Theon holds his breath as Robb looks up.

“Jon has taken his vows.”

The tiny spark of hope vanishes. The Jon Theon got to know these last weeks would never break his vows. Gone, the last chance of seeing him again.

“He writes it was a struggle,” Robb continues. “He was already on his way. But he couldn’t break his pledge in the end.” He sighs. “I honestly wouldn’t expect him to.” Robb smiles, a lopsided smile. “At least I still got you.”

Theon smiles back. Yes, Robb has him. And he’ll do whatever he can, to help him win this war, rescue Lord Stark, then go back home. He makes a silent pledge. Whatever happens, he’ll be useful to Robb.

And he is, his archery skills, his counsel Robb listens to when the older lords have retired, teasing him about his bride-to-be, simply being there as his friend and brother. When the men declare Robb the King in the North, Theon pledges him his sword. Brothers, always. And then, suddenly, there’s one more thing Theon could do. Robb needs ships.

***

Seeing Pyke for the first time since Ned Stark had taken him away, nearly ten years ago… Theon smiles. He’s coming home. Bringing his father the chance to be a king again. Word of his arrival must have reached the island by now, and Theon wonders. Will someone be waiting for him at the harbour? Maybe father himself? His boy is coming home.

No one is waiting for him. No one cares that he’s here. Theon is confused, in shock. The name Theon Greyjoy doesn’t mean anything to these simple fishermen. They don’t even know their prince! He blows himself up as much as he can, tries to act regal and important. But somehow… somehow he’s got the feeling they’re making fun of him.

That insolent wench taking him to his father’s castle certainly is, her strangely familiar smile seems to mock him. Nothing he does makes him feel better, more in control of the situation.

And it gets worse.

Father doesn’t want him. His sister - may she rot in the deepest hell - has taken a son’s place, Theon’s place. Father scolds him, mocks him, beats him. For being Robb’s envoy. For being like them. The Starks. They say he’s no Greyjoy anymore.

That first night in Pyke is the worst of Theon’s life. No dream of Jon could warm this dreadful place enough to chase away the cold, outside. The cold inside. His family doesn’t want him. His father does not want him. They scare Theon.

He always thought he knew what being Ironborn meant, but now… these people… he’s not like them. Was that the reason father sent him away? Did he know, even then, that Theon isn’t good enough, isn’t Ironborn enough?

The thought of bringing Jon, good, lovely, righteous Jon, here… it seems like a sacrilege now. This place would suck it out of him, all that makes him who he is. And for a man who hadn’t even loved him. Theon shakes his head. It’s no use, thinking about those what ifs now. Jon is never going to see Pyke.

So, what is he to do now? Father has burned Robb’s proposal, intends to raid the North, now that it’s left behind unguarded. It’s impossible, to choose. The Starks - his friend, his brother, his king - or the Greyjoys. His kin. The people who don’t want him.

He starts writing a letter, to Robb, warning him of his father’s plans. But what if Robb thinks it was his fault? He’s the king now. What if he won’t trust him anymore, after all of Theon’s boasting how easy it’ll be to get those ships? Can he really crawl back to Robb like a beaten dog, rejected by his own family? What use would such a man be to the King in the North?

And if he were to send this letter, it’d mean one thing for sure. He’d forever be the Starks’ bitch. His family would denounce him. Bridges burning. No more Ironborn. No more future Lord Reaper of Pyke, no more Prince Theon. No more Greyjoy. It’d be like cutting the sea out of his veins.

And for what? Suddenly Theon feels angry. Angry at the boy who promised him love once, the boy who is his fucking _lord_ because father had been to weak to defeat his enemies, the bloody Starks, angry at Robb for making him choose sides. He burns the letter, feeling colder than ever before. His name is Theon Greyjoy. And what is dead may never die. They can be kings again.

He finally sleeps. He dreams. He’s in the godswood, holding his hand against the heart tree. Only it can’t be his hand, it looks mangled, broken and twisted. A voice, like a horrible parody of his own, whispering, _I should have died with him._

Someone is dead. The smell of filth and blood in his nose, he opens his mouth to scream, but only more blood pours out. Pain, so much pain, he cannot bear it any second longer - a hand in his hair. A soothing hand, warm and tender. The most precious sound in the world.

_I love you, Theon._

Jon. His beautiful face, his lovely dark eyes, shining with unshed tears, his voice, so soft, so sweet.

_I still love you._

Before the sun has risen, Theon’s mind is made up. He cannot do it. He cannot betray Jon. The message he sends to his king is short. _Go back North NOW._ Theon fervently hopes Robb trusts him enough to follow this. He watches the Raven fly east, relief and fear fighting for the upper hand.

“I knew you’d do that.”

He spins around, horrified, to find his sister smirking at him. He’s dead. She’ll tell father. Or maybe she’ll just throw him out the window herself. But instead, she rolls her eyes.

“You are my baby brother, Theon. I’m not going to kill you, nor will I watch father or anyone else kill you. But,” her face gets serious, her voice hard. “You need to leave, right now. There’s a ship sailing north in an hour.” She takes a step towards him, holds out a bundle. It’s his cloak, the cloak father tore off his shoulders, disgusted with the finery. “Keep warm. Keep safe. Never return.”

There’s no time for goodbyes, or thank yous. Yara’s horse takes him to the docks at the last minute, the ship sets sails and he’s going. Away from Pyke, away from a place that isn’t his home anymore. North, Yara had said. The ship sails north. He asks the captain, a very young looking man with pink cheeks glowing in a beardless face.

“Frozen Shore.”

Now if that isn’t a sign, then what is? His family may not want him, Robb may not want him after his failure. But there’s one person who basically _has_ to want him. Theon smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How will Jon react to a surprise visit? Theon's motifs are still very egoistical. At least he didn't betray Robb, duh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part!!!

The Wall is… big. Theon pulls back his hood to look up the massive wall of ice, then back at the gates before him. Castle Black. It looks like the last place he’s ever wanted to be - and it’s a fucking miracle he’s even made it there alive - but this place contains Jon and if he has to climb the walls to get in, he will. 

Though he might give knocking a try first. And, to his astonishment, the gate is opened a fraction not a minute later, as if the guy’s been waiting behind it. He’s tall and skinny, with huge ears giving him a funny look. 

“Who’s that?” he asks.

“Theon. Greyjoy,” Theon adds reluctantly. 

“Huh,” says the guy.

“What.” Theon doesn’t like his look at all. “I’m here to see-”

“Lord Snow.”  

Theon can only stare at him in shock, noting the shit-eating grin now spreading over the guy’s face.  _ Lord _ Snow?? Somehow he feels as if he’s missing some vital clue here. 

“Wait.” 

The gate slams shut in Theon’s face and he stares at in in consternation. What the fuck?? This time it takes a lot longer for the guy to come back. Theon has stopped feeling his nose, which has to be a bad sign. He can’t wait to bury it in Jon’s warm neck. 

“Hullo!” The guy is back, not grinning anymore. “No can do, sorry. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“What…” The door starts closing again and Theon shouts out in panic. “WAIT! What am I supposed to do now??”

“There’s a brothel in Mole’s Town. Jon says you’ll probably feel right at home there.”

Bam. The gate is shut. Not at all believing what just went down, Theon turns his horse around, back to Mole’s Town. He’s passed it on his way to Castle Black, not stopping, eager to see Jon again. He’ll feel right at home there? Damn. Theon sighs. Jon really could be more forgiving. He’s come all the way to the bloody end of the world for him after all!

Luckily he does get a room, at an inn, not the fucking brothel. Theon spends his evening drinking one ale after the other in the taproom of the place, angrily contemplating his choices. There aren’t many. Giving up, crawling back to Robb and hope he’ll not mention his failures again. Joining the Night’s Watch, so Jon has to see him, if he wants to or not.

The decision is taken from him. A sudden gust of wind blows a fat guy in Night’s Watch attire through the door. He shakes himself like a wet dog, sprinkling the floor with snow, before looking around. His gaze falls on Theon, and suddenly he’s beaming all over his podgy face. 

“You must be Theon Greyjoy,” he wheezes as he lets himself fall onto the unoccupied bench at Theon’s table. “I’m so glad you aren’t gone!”

The confusion must be showing on his face, because the fat boy takes a deep breath before starting to talk very fast.

“You are Theon, you are Jon’s soulmate, oh, I am Samwell Tarly by the way and Jon is my friend, not that kind of friend, obviously, and you came here, I can’t believe it, Jon had to tell us about you because Pyp found him crying once and he told me and Grenn and Edd and we made Jon tell us, anyway, you came here so it can’t be true that you don’t like Jon, right, and I think he should really talk to you and maybe he’d be happier then, but he won’t, not voluntary, so I came to help you get him.”

Theon stares at Samwell Tarly open-mouthed. That’s… a lot of information to take in. Jon had been crying because of him. He feels like a monster. The last words are echoing in his head… Tarly wants to help him _ get Jon _ ?? He clears his throat.

“Are you saying I should  _ kidnap  _ Jon?”

Tarly nods, still smiling, obviously immensely proud with himself. Theon gets up so suddenly he scares poor Samwell Tarly half to death, with a squeak he jumps up too. Theon feels a smile starting to form on his lips. Why the fuck not?? If Jon doesn’t want to talk… he’ll at least make him listen.

***

He does feel slightly stupid as he follows Tarly into the dark castle, a guard nodding at them casually. 

“That’s Edd,” Tarly whispers. “He’s privy to our plan.”

Climbing a lot of stairs in a dark tower behind a fat guy dressed all in black is so very strange, Theon doesn’t dare to make a single sound. Maybe it’s a trick Jon is playing on him… no. He doesn’t really think that. Jon isn’t the type to play tricks.

Tarly opens a door, unnecessarily shushing Theon before stepping aside to let him in. 

And there he is, fast asleep, his face a lovely shade of red from the heavy furs keeping him warm. For a moment Theon is blown away by the force of his feelings, is tempted to kneel beside the bed, stroke the curls from Jon’s face and wake him with a kiss. But that would probably earn him a well-deserved punch in the face. 

So Theon slowly turns around, careful not to make a sound. “I need a little help,” he mouths at Tarly, and the boy nods, disappearing from the doorway. Theon’s alone with Jon, struggling hard to not just crawl under the furs with him. He’s reasonably sure he’s never been so fucking cold in all his life. Or wanting something so much.

As it is he just stares at Jon’s relaxed face. He looks so young… so at peace at the moment, that for one crazy second Theon feels like leaving, or rip himself in half, anything to keep him warm and safe like this. There’s no way around it. Of all the monsters out there, Theon has caused the most harm himself.

But. He can’t leave Jon. Never again. Theon’s hand wanders to his hip, to the tiny direwolf there. Jon got so much deeper… under his skin, into his veins. Into his heart. He sighs now in sleep, sniffling a little, and Theon nearly drowns in a wave of emotions. 

He wants to kiss him, wants to hold him, wants to do everything to finally be worthy of someone so pure, so good. It’s a strange thing, to realise he’s fallen in love while standing here, ready to kidnap the boy he loves. The need to touch grows unbearable.

Theon just reaches out to stroke his face when a low cough in his back has him nearly scream. When he looks behind himself, there’s three guys standing there, grinning like idiots. The skinny guy is among them, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. 

Jon’s eyelids flutter, but before Theon can panic, they’ve already thrown themselves on top of Jon. Theon doesn’t exactly see what’s going down, but in the end Jon is tied up nicely, a hood over his face, writhing around like a captured shadowcat. The sounds coming from him don’t exactly promise sunshine and roses. 

“There ya go,” one of the guys, a big bulky one, says, “all yours.”

If what has happened up to now has been strange, it’s nothing compared to this. With Jon hanging over his shoulder, struggling like mad, Theon makes his way over the castle’s courtyard, followed by a non stop blabbering Tarly. 

“You won’t hurt him, right? You’ve come to tell him you do like him, right? That’s all so roman…” He trails off as an older man steps out of the shadows. “Uhh… Ser Alliser… He’s just… borrowing Jon for a while…”

Ser Alliser takes one disdainful look at Theon’s load, then, to Theon’s surprise, just shrugs. “He can keep him,” he growls before turning around, melting into the shadows again. 

Theon stares after him, then at Samwell Tarly. 

“Long story,” he wheezes, apparently shitting his pants for some reason. “Go, go now, before Jon suffocates in there.”

It’s not easy, riding with a constrained, angry man over the horseback in front of him, but somehow Theon makes it behind Mole’s Town, to a nice tree growing beside the road. He’d noticed it on the way up because it had reminded him of the last talk Jon and him had that fucking day, and now it feels oddly fitting to resume that awful conversation in a similar place.

Only this time, Jon is tied to the tree. Theon is careful to keep Jon covered in furs, even though the sun is already rising, it’s still bloody cold. When he slowly pulls off the hood covering Jon’s head, his first impulse is to laugh. 

Somehow the guys have managed to bind Jon’s mouth with a cloth, his hair looks ridiculous now, his face is bright red, his eyes burning with rage. He’s so lovely… Upon seeing Theon, the rage seems to maximize.

“Hello, sweetling,” Theon says, his voice shaking, before sitting down on the ground cross-legged. “Have you missed me?”

***

“And then I bought the lamest horse known to mankind, and here I am,” Theon finishes his tale with a little bow, it seems difficult from his sitting position. 

He seems twitchy, nervous even, a lot different than the arrogant Theon Jon remembers, so sure of himself, careless and thoughtless. Jon really wishes he could move, if only to pinch himself. He still can’t really believe this is actually happening.

At first he’d thought Pyp was having him on when he told him that Theon Greyjoy was standing before the gates of Castle Black, but it had been the truth. Theon really asked for him. And Jon, childishly, hadn’t wanted to even see him. Had told Pyp to send Theon to the brothel, like a spiteful, rejected maiden.

And still Theon had slipped into his dreams when he finally went to bed. Jon had thought it was his own mind playing tricks on him, when his so-called friends attacked him. But the moment he was slung over his shoulder he knew. 

He’s stopped writhing and growling halfway through Theon’s story, partially because it makes absolutely no sense, partially because he listens. And looks.

Despite all that’s happened, Jon couldn’t ever get enough of looking at Theon. He’s slightly thinner than the last time Jon has seen him, his eyes look wearier. No wonder, Jon thinks, if even half of his stories are true. He wants to go to Pyke and personally punch Balon Greyjoy in the face for hurting Theon like that.

After finishing his last sentence Theon just keeps sitting there, looking at Jon with huge eyes, their expression unreadable. Suddenly he moves forward, quickly untying the cloth that’s been uncomfortably cutting into Jon’s mouth. His gloved fingers brush his cheek and Jon nearly leans into the touch, but Theon has already retreated.

Jon licks his lips. “Untie me.”

“No.” Theon shakes his head, his eyes fixed on Jon’s. “You’d bail before I get to say what I want to say.”

“Fine, say it,” Jon mumbles, “and then go. Go home, Theon.”

It takes Theon a long while to answer, and when he does it sounds defiant, quiet.

“I am home.”

The words have more impact on Jon than he’d thought, more than he wants them to have. He reminds himself that this is just Theon spinning bullshit to get what he wants. And what he wants is Jon to want him because he’s stupidly convinced nobody else does. 

“You are an idiot, Theon.” It comes out a lot more tender than Jon meant for it to be, he bites his cheeks and continues, his voice harder now. “I’m sorry about your family, really. What happened wasn’t right, or fair. But now you’re only here because you go, ooh I can’t go back to the man I love because I failed him!” 

Jon feels tears spring to his eyes, quickly talking on. “But don’t despair! There’s still that stupid boy up north who said he loves me no matter what, why not go to him to lift my spirits? After all it’s basically Jon’s  _ duty _ to be there for me!”

Now he can’t hold back the tears anymore, he lets his head sink, not wanting Theon to see. 

“Jon.” Theon’s voice is nearer than before, strained. “Jon, I know we’re not in a good place right now, but… can I touch you? Please?” He makes a sound, half sigh, half moan. “Please. I’m going crazy.”

Defeated, Jon nods. It’d be a lie to say he doesn’t want to touch Theon too. But maybe it’s easier for him. After all those years longing to touch him, never being able to. A fresh wave of tears wells up in his eyes. Theon finally knows. After all this time he finally knows what it’s like. 

Theon leans closer, cutting through the ropes tying Jon’s hands together. Then, slowly, as if he can’t help himself, he brings them to his lips, kissing the welts where Jon’s writhing has chafed his skin. Jon lets him, too overwhelmed by the feeling to protest or pull back. 

A drop falls onto his palm, then another. Jon’s breath catches and his chest gets unbearably tight as he realises what’s happening. Theon is crying. It’s as if the world has suddenly turned upside down. Theon has never cried before, not once in all the years since he came to Winterfell.

He’s crying now, smiling at Jon through his tears, so beautiful Jon’s heart starts beating like a drum, the blood rushing like thunder through his veins. His hands are still holding Jon’s, and that little touch, insignificant as it is, feels like the first time all over again.

All those lonely miserable years, all the heartbreak over Theon choosing Robb, all the things he’d said to Jon the day he left Winterfell, all his selfish behaviour - it doesn’t matter. Jon can’t let go of any of it, nor will he ever stop hurting from them, but there’s one thing he can’t forget any more than his own name. 

He loves Theon. Selfish, boisterous, arrogant, impossible Theon. And because he loves him, he’s taking all Theon wants to give him right now. He’s going to give him everything he has, and if Theon should need more, he’s going to rustle it up somehow and give him that too. Because that’s who he is.

And when Theon inevitably grows tired of him again, he’ll tell him goodbye, hoping to see him once again someday. Theon may never love him. But right now he needs him, and Jon had never been able to refuse Theon anything, except that one time. It had nearly torn him apart. He feels whole now, when he looks into Theon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says with all the solemnity he can muster. “For speaking so harshly when… for being angry when you said you want to take me to Pyke one day.”

For a moment Theon just stares at him, open-mouthed, before he slaps Jon across the face, not hard, but so of a sudden Jon yelps in shock. Theon grabs him by the shoulders, rattling him back and forth.

“Jon, you moron!! Have you lost your mind? You don’t have to apologize for  _ anything  _ for fuck’s sake!!”

As suddenly as the attack started, it’s over again, and now Theon’s hands are cradling Jon’s face. Jon swallows and lifts his eyes to meet Theon’s. The earth moves beneath him, or maybe he got dizzy. He’s never seen Theon looking so tender before. Not even at Robb. 

“Oh, fuck Robb,” Theon says with vigour, mysteriously able to read his mind. “Don’t you even  _ think _ of him right now. This is about you, Jon. About you and me.”

_ Fuck Robb?? _ Jon is sure he must’ve misheard. He opens his mouth to make sure.

“I am sorry, Jon.” 

Jon’s eyes water again as he hears something he didn’t think was possible. Theon Greyjoy telling him he’s sorry.

“I was a selfish idiot. I still am. Everything is about me, and you are a part of me, I know that now. So, theoretically everything being about me is being about us.” Theon sighs. “I’m sorry I jumped you with all my high and mighty plans without even asking you what you want. I’m sorry I just assumed you wanted nothing more than to be my little soulmate pet. I’m sorry…” Theon swallows, looking pained now. “I’m sorry I even ever  _ thought _ of taking you to Pyke.”

His thumbs stroke away the tears freely flowing from Jon’s eyes now. Jon doesn’t care. 

“You’d wilt there like a flower, too good, too sweet, Jon…” Theon sighs, kissing his forehead. Jon shivers at the touch, holding his breath. “I will always want to decide things for you, put you under glass so nothing will ever happen to you. Least of all my foolishness.” Theon smiles. “And the moment I start doing that, telling you what to do and what not, I want you to slap me as hard as you can. Not that you’d do that,” Theon adds, “you love me way too much.”

Jon can’t help himself. He smiles back. 

“At least you got that right.”

Theon’s beautiful laugh rings in his ears as Jon cranes his neck, his mouth meetings Theon’s, the world dissolving around them as Theon kisses him back hungrily, his hands never leaving Jon’s face. 

“By the way, Snow,” Theon whispers as they finally break apart. “I’m going nowhere. I’ll join this fucking gang of miserable crows and stay with you until you want to strangle me because I annoy you so much.”

Jon isn’t sure he believes him. Only time can tell what’ll become of them. Theon isn’t cut out for a lifetime of Winter, and Jon is determined to keep him from taking any vows that bind him to the end of the world. But until then they have time. Time to really get to know each other. Time for Theon to see if he can love him.

And for this moment it’s more than enough to be in Theon’s arms, lying back in the grass under the tree, the autumn sun warming their faces, as Theon kisses him again and again, one hand over Jon’s heart. 

His other hand is softly stroking Jon’s chest, crawling under his shirt, the new, incredible touch setting Jon’s nerves on fire. He’s stroking Jon’s stomach, lower and lower until his fingers reach--

“Are you out of your mind??” Jon hisses, scandalized as his dreamlike state shatters. “You can’t - we can’t… consummate… our relationship right here!!”

For a moment Theon just blinks, then suddenly Jon is ripped against his chest. “Oh my darling boy…” He showers Jon’s face with kisses, paying no mind to Jon’s feeble protest. “Don’t worry, love, we’ll be  _ consummating _ all day and night - once I’ve got you in a bed. We’ll be  _ consummating  _ like rabbits. I really love you so fucking much!”

Jon’s heart skips a beat, before taking off into the sky. 

***

_ To the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch _

_ Dear Ser, _

_ I am writing to you in great distress. A man who swore fealty to my lord father has broken his oath, has imprisoned my mother and uncle and is now threatening my home. In these times of war I need my brother by my side. _

_ I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, implore you to release Jon Snow from the vows that bind him to the Night’s Watch.  _

_ I am loath to bereave you of his skills. To rectify the loss I am causing you, I hereby promise to send as many men to serve the realm as you deem necessary to man your castles, once I have quelled the rebellion against my house. _

_ Robb Stark _

_ What you have done for my brother shall not be forgotten. _

_ (Should there be a man named Theon Greyjoy in your care, please tell him that he is more than welcome to join me once again, and this time for good.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who followed this story, it has been really fun to write!

**Author's Note:**

> I really hate to beg for comments but I NEED to know what you think of this! XD
> 
> Also, I'm still very torn in which direction I will go with those two idiot boys, so any ideas etc. are very welcome! Atm I have about three different options to work with - none of them involves Ramsay!


End file.
